


Hush

by Johannas_Motivational_Insults



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:13:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johannas_Motivational_Insults/pseuds/Johannas_Motivational_Insults
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss visits Johanna after walking away from Peeta's hospital room. She doesn't know why, but she just might find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot is inspired by the gifsets of that solitary MJ1 Joniss "scene" that have been popping up on tumblr in the last two days. It picks up right where the movie left off. Rating for profanity.

I’m not entirely sure what drew me here. Loneliness, maybe. The one person I could always turn to for comfort and company tried to kill me mere hours ago, and now he’s tied down to a bed behind a one-way mirror, yanking on his restraints like he’s possessed. I guess he kind of is. I just walked away from him, quite possibly for the last time. I don’t think the gentle boy with the bread is still in there anywhere. The fear and confusion from what I just saw and the earlier attack are still swarming my mind, and just having someone else to pull me out of my own head can sometimes help, but at the moment almost everyone in the district is listening to some kind of victory speech from President Coin. Annie was already discharged and is probably there with Finnick. That leaves one person I know in the hospital, ergo my current location.

But if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not just here because I’m lonely. Usually I shirk any kind of company when I’m this distraught, run away and hide in an air vent or a supply closet or whatever, and yet here I am. It seems completely absurd that I would seek out Johanna Mason’s company after all the times she’s physically and verbally attacked me. But despite my initial distrust of Johanna, I’ve felt a certain affinity for her ever since the Cornucopia island spun out and she clung to my hand like it was her life on the line, not mine. And as much as I thought I hated her, I’ve kind of missed her since the Quell, or at least her candor and sarcasm. It’s strange to admit, but I want to see her.

I suck in a steadying breath and slip in the door. The sight of the girl is almost enough to make me pass out, frankly. Blankets shroud her bony body but she’s still shivering in her sleep. Her right side is facing me, so I can’t see most of the bruising on her face from where some right-handed person must have taken to her, but the nasty-looking abrasion on her scalp is still visible. A crushing sense of helplessness overwhelms me as I approach gingerly and my eyes migrate from the wound down to her sunken cheeks. Part of me wishes I could take all her suffering upon myself. She didn’t deserve this, and it never would have happened to her if it weren’t for me. But there’s nothing I can do about that now.

I consider leaving rather than waking her up, staring at her wordlessly and making her feel awkward or, even worse, pitied. I don’t think there’s anything practical I can do for her, anyway. But I want her to know I was here. I want her to know that, in the one small way that I could, I came back for her. I extend a tentative hand and pause inches from her shoulder. If I had anything left to live for, I might fear for my life. I steel my resolve and brush my fingers over the scratches I’ve just noticed on her neck. Johanna suddenly springs upright and arrests my wrist in a tight grip, her eyes wild and huge with fright. Though I’m sure mine are every bit as wide, I force myself to stay calm and raise my other hand diplomatically.

Johanna’s eyes lose their panicked, tortured look over a long moment. Her chest slows its dramatic heaving and she chuckles, though I can’t tell if it’s from relief or if she’s laughing at me. She eyes up the cold collar on my neck. “What’s with the new hardware?” she asks, gesturing at the collar. When I don’t reply she grins and taunts me, “What, has the Mockingjay lost her voice?”

I steam silently at the older victor. Of course she doesn’t know what Peeta did to me, but she could at least try not to be such an insensitive bitch. Why would I be wearing this thing if nothing was wrong? It seems Johanna is just coming to this realization now, her eyes widening again marginally and flicking from my face to my neck and back again.

“You can’t talk, can you?” she asks seriously. I shake my head. Johanna twitches her eyebrows up and smirks. “Well that’s an improvement,” she remarks. I go to snatch my wrist away and storm out of the room, but she only tightens her grip. “Are you okay?” she suddenly asks, relatively blandly but with an unmistakable touch of concern.

I furrow my brow at her. Why is Johanna Mason asking me if I’m okay? Aside from the fact that she’s never seemed to care much about me on a personal level, she’s the one who’s been beaten and starved and god knows what else while I’ve been hidden away in relative safety. I run my eyes over the bruises on her face, over her frighteningly visible ribs, over the shadow of stubble on her scalp. My eyes return to her face to see her watching the path of my eyes. “I’ll be all right. Thanks for asking,” she says with an ironic quirk of her lips. It takes me a second to realize she’s trying to amuse me rather than offend me. My throat tenses a little in a desire to laugh, and though it hurts I smile in appreciation.

Johanna holds my gaze quietly for a moment. I’m not sure she realizes it, but she’s tracing a pattern over my pulse with her thumb. Finally, she bites her lip and drops her gaze to her blankets. She swings her legs out from under them and hangs them over the edge of the bed as she pivots on her rear to face me, revealing the full extent of the bruises on her face and legs that threaten to steal my breath like they did only hours ago. She catches my eye again and loosens her hold on me. “What do you want, Mockingjay?” she sighs wearily.

That’s a fair question given that I’m not even sure. I wanted to see her, and now I have, but something besides her grip on my wrist is keeping me here. I want to tell her how sorry I am for what she went through, to thank her for sacrificing herself to save my life. I want to tell her that someone is thinking of her. That I’m thinking of her. Unfortunately, thanks to Peeta, I can’t apologize or tell her how much I care for her with words. But that was never really my strong suit anyway. I only know one way to convey these things.

I leave no time to second-guess myself before leaning in and pressing my lips against Johanna’s. A surprised sound breaks out of the other girl’s mouth and she starts to recoil in shock before jolting still and narrowing her eyes at me. Despite my fear of being assaulted, I haven’t pulled back and am not two inches from her lips. Johanna glances down at mine, catches my eye again and closes the gap. She pushes our lips together with an urgent need that surprises me, but not unpleasantly so. Perhaps that’s the bigger surprise.

Our lips have been moving against each other for several seconds before I feel Johanna’s tongue poke through her lips and probe mine. I open them to let it in without a second thought. I didn’t necessarily intend for my gesture of gratitude to go this far, but why not? It’s not like this is grossing me out – quite the contrary, actually – and besides, I owe her whatever she needs from me at the moment. I will owe her always. I raise my hand to cup the less injured side of her face, and though Johanna doesn’t resist the movement, she also doesn’t let go of my wrist. My breathing speeds up despite the slow and controlled efforts of our tongues. Oddly, this has already become one of those rare kisses that leave me wanting more, and quite frankly I could do without all the control.

I’ve lost track of time, but at some point I lift my right hand to rest on Johanna’s side and consequently come tumbling back down to reality when I feel the protrusions of her ribs through the thin garment hanging loosely off her emaciated frame. I don’t stop kissing her, but my mind that’s been pleasantly numbed since our lips made contact has begun whirring mercilessly again. Peeta’s been hijacked and Johanna’s been tortured almost to the point of death. Ironically, he’s the one who wants to kill me and she’s the one kissing me. And she’s a good kisser. I’m still enjoying it somewhat even through the taste of my tears.

Johanna suddenly pulls back and scrutinizes my face. “Are you crying?” she demands in disbelief. I shake my head and blink down to the ground. “Bullshit. Why are you crying?” I catch her eye and sigh resignedly. I don’t want to talk about it. Right now I’m glad for the excuse the cold collar provides me. “Seriously, brainless, what do you have to cry about?” she asks, more agitated this time. I’m momentarily indignant until I realize she means comparatively. “Sad for your poor little boyfriend?” she taunts me.

I backhand Johanna across the face with my free hand the second she finishes that sentence. Not hard, just enough to get her attention. Right now, I wouldn’t beat on this frail wisp of the girl I knew even if she _was_ trying to kill me. It seems I succeeded because she is staring at me in shock, just a hint of anger peeking through. I shake my head vigorously, my face hard, and run my fingers oh so gently over the skin just behind the welt on her crown. I continue down her bruises and curl my hand under her jawbone, then shoot her as purposeful a look as I can muster.

“Don’t cry for me,” she growls. “I don’t want your pity.” I roll my eyes and shake my head again, in exasperation this time. Sure, I do pity her, but that’s not the only reason I’m upset. I’m not sure what the other reasons are, but I’m experiencing a deeply visceral reaction to her condition. My confusingly positive feelings regarding that kiss aren’t helping me sort it out either. Johanna is glaring at me when I return my gaze to her. “Seriously, Everdeen,” she snarls, “take your pity and shove it–”

My lips are on hers again before she can finish. I’m much more forceful this time, biting at her lips and jamming my tongue back in her mouth, not even giving her a chance to protest. She responds in kind after a split second of paralysis, and she gets up the energy to touch me now, moving both hands to my face. I can always count on anger to energize Johanna Mason. I pull away before long, not because I’m not enjoying it but because that’s not the point. Not to mention it’s making me breathless and that’s the last thing I need at the moment. I tilt my forehead forward to rest against hers and manage to rasp out a quiet, “Johanna.” It’s only the second word I’ve attempted to speak since I came to after being strangled. The first was also a name. A name that’s too painful to think about right now.

Johanna’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates and she leans back to get a better look at me. “Shit, Katniss,” she breathes. “Don’t try to talk.” I nod glumly. “I’d ask what happened to you,” she grins, “but something tells me you’d be horrible at Charades.” Though I appreciate the effort, this is not Johanna’s finest attempt at humor. Even the thought of mimicking the choking action with my hands sets my heart racing and belabors my breathing. My throat starts swelling up too, and the combination makes my breaths come out in tiny wheezes. Johanna’s eyes flash with concern and she caresses one of my cheekbones with a thumb. “Hey,” she whispers. “Calm down. It’s okay.” I lock my eyes on hers and try to absorb some steadiness from them. Her being more mentally stable right now is admittedly absurd in these circumstances, but I try not to judge myself. It takes a few moments, but I feel my body returning to homeostasis. I blink away in embarrassment and reach up to swipe the tears from my cheeks, so Johanna drops her hands, granting me access.

I should probably go. I should be the one comforting her, but I’ve completely messed that up. She needs rest, too, and I don’t want to bother her. Plus, just standing here when I don’t know what to do next is overwhelmingly awkward. I catch Johanna’s eyes and nod once gratefully before taking a step backward to indicate my intentions. She squints at me for a few seconds before licking her lips and offering, “You can stay.” I narrow my eyes in confusion and she quickly shrugs and tacks on, “I mean, if you want.” I do want. Johanna would be surprised if she knew how much so. I raise my eyebrows noncommittally to hide it and eye up the room. There’s a chair, so unfortunately I’ll have to be bold. I want her close but I also want a chance to help her, and I have an idea of how to satisfy both objectives.

I pointedly look down at Johanna’s bed, prompting an inquisitive look from her. I nod in her direction and rub my upper arms like a shivering person would. “I don’t need you to keep me warm,” she huffs, her posture suddenly defensive. I think she’s full of crap and I give her my best rendition of an expression that says so. We stay in this stalemate for a long moment until I decide I’ve had enough and I step closer, motioning for her to scoot backward. She does, but not without some half-hearted grumbling. I climb into the bed and pull the blankets back to cover both of us and then pause, unsure of my next move. She hasn’t rolled over to indicate she wants to be held from behind and I’m not really comfortable initiating physical contact anyway. Thankfully, Johanna does it for me, turning toward me and laying the less bruised side of her face on my chest. Her hand tentatively settles on my stomach and I take it in mine without thinking, threading our fingers together like this is not weird at all and we’ve done this a million times before.

I glance down at the girl lying on me and see she is already fighting to keep her eyes open. It’s endearing, and I have to fight to keep a smile off my face for fear of provoking another defensive reaction. I curl my arm around her back instead and lean closer to press a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes flutter and I, emboldened, move my face to repeat the action on her cheek. A contented grunt leaves her lips and she lifts her head the tiniest bit to meet mine before I even get there. One final peck later, Johanna settles against me again and I tighten my grip on her. The protective instinct I feel is far from unfamiliar to me, though I never expected to feel it for her. And I thought all the fight had left me after I came to terms with what Peeta had done to me, but I want to fight for her. Even if Peeta is irretrievable, Johanna is not. She seems to have largely maintained what little sanity she had in the first place. She’s still very much herself. I’m okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> The title, for anyone who's interested, is taken from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode of the same name, in which something sort of similar happens between Buffy and Boring Riley.


End file.
